


Dream Impossible Dreams

by quillsandinkwells



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, I tried my best to keep it so, Marauders' Era, Mostly Canon Compliant, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Rewrite of the original posting, The original posting was trash I apologize, You can read it on FF but I don't recommend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 08:10:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9226106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quillsandinkwells/pseuds/quillsandinkwells
Summary: On the best of days, matters of the heart require thought. On the nearly-bad days, they require a bit of advice. When Lily Evans turns to a stranger for a advice, she ends up hearing a story which helps make everything a little clearer, and puts some things into perspective.Aka, Lily accidentally meets her future mother-in-law and turns to her for advice about her son. Not knowing James is her son.





	

“Bad day, dearie?” Madam Rosmerta asked the young redhead who had plopped herself down at the bar of the Three Broomsticks. Though it was a Hogsmeade weekend, the students had not yet made their way down from the castle, and they both knew quite well that even the Head Girl was not supposed to leave the castle early.

“Bad month, actually? I’ve just been really busy lately with NEWTS and all… And things have been confusing. I’ve found that I didn’t know someone as well as I thought I did. Or really at all.” Lily shrugged, fiddling with the end of her ponytail. “I’m trying to figure out how to deal with it.”

“Can I get you anything to help?”

“A cup of tea, maybe? With two sugars.” She smiled.

“Coming right up.” Madam Rosmerta patted her hand softly. “Keep me updated with how things turn out.”

“Thanks, Madam Rosmerta.”

“It’s a boy, isn’t it, my dear?” Lily turned, surprised at the sound of an unknown voice. She was greeted with the sight of perhaps the most elegant woman she had ever seen, dressed in lovely navy robes, her dark hair swirled into a chignon, framing a face that was still beautiful, even though it was clear that she was getting on in years.

“Excuse me?” The redhead fidgeted, shifting on her barstool as the woman took a seat beside her.

“Forgive me; my son always tells me I meddle far too much. However, I recognize the look on your face, and I know it has something to do with a boy.” She laughed when the younger woman gave her a confused look. “I may not be the youngest of women, but I do know a thing or two about the world.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Lily blushed. “You’re right about the boy.” She pursed her lips. “He confuses me, and I’m not… I don’t get confused about things very often.” Rosmerta came back at that time with her tea, and Lily paid her while the other woman ordered.

“It’s good to see there are young women out there who still enjoy tea.” The lady commented. “My second cousin invented butterbeer, and I’ve never found it particularly tasty.”

“My mother prefers tea over almost anything. I suppose she instilled it in me.” Lily shrugged. She sat there for a few moments, debating whether to ask the question that was thumping inside her head. “Do you… Well, I suppose you’ve been in love before.”

“I have, yes.”

“Do you know anything about…well, difficult love? More like being in love in a difficult time, I guess.” Lily tugged on her ponytail again, playing with the ends of it. “It’s just that...well, I’m muggleborn, you see, and the boy is a pureblood, and we’re in a war, and Merlin knows he’s been vocal enough on the side where he stands.”

“Does he want to pursue something with you?”

Lily laughed. “He’s made that clear, yes. And I know I feel something _big_ for him; it’s been building for a while, actually. But I just don’t know if I could bear to see him hurt because of me.” She sighed. “Do you have any advice for that?”

“As it just so happens,” The lady smiled. “I happen to have a story that I think might help.”

“Then please, tell away.” Lily took a sip of her tea, hoping for a bit of encouragement. And so, the lady began to speak.

-0-0-0-0-0-

It all began in the year 1939, on the grounds of Hogwarts, where a couple hid themselves away in an alcove barely big enough for the two of them. Euphemia and Fleamont, recent graduates of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, respectively, were attempting to steal a brief moment with each other before their families dragged them away. Their families, as it so happens, did not know of the relationship between their children, nor would they have been happy if they had known.

“Are you really going to leave, Fleamont? You could just tell your parents…” The dark-haired beauty pursed her lips, adjusting his tie slightly.

“We’ve talked about this; my parents won’t approve of what I’ll be doing. My father hasn’t been on good terms with the Ministry for years. The last thing he wants to hear is that his only son and heir is going off to develop potions for them.” The young man scoffed, running a hand through his perpetually-messy hair.

“Going into a warzone is a little bit different than just developing potions. I’m fairly sure he’d approve of the latter.” Euphemia sniped, trying to control her worry and nerves. They had been so happy this past year and a half, even though they’d kept their relationship quiet. And now that Fleamont was heading off…well, she was scared for him. Scared to lose him.

“Phee…” He sighed.

“I know, I know.” She shook her head. “I’m being supportive. But I’m allowed to worry, especially considering you’re going to be quite far away, and mostly unreachable while curses are being shot at you.”

“We’ll write as often as we can. And we can try and floo-call, if we can manage it around your parents.” Fleamont was torn, eager to go develop potions which would only help to defeat the rising dark forces, but terribly unhappy that he was leaving the love of his life behind. It wouldn’t be for too long, though. It couldn’t be.

“Yes, as I try to dodge their oh-so-subtle hints about marrying me off to the latest Avery or Lestrange.” Though she was proud of her family, the Selwyn name came attached to some unsavory characters that Euphemia could certainly live without.

“I’ve told you…”

“Yes, darling, I know. If all else fails, I go to your parents and show them my memories. But I would like to get married without being disowned, you know.” She smirked a little, showing him that she was teasing a little bit as she caressed his cheek.

“That is the ideal circumstance.” Fleamont laughed, tucking an errant lock of hair behind her ear. They were struck out of their adoration, however, by a voice calling out for Euphemia.

“I suppose our time is up.” She took a deep breath, fighting back the sudden tears that wanted to spill out. “It won’t do to have them find us.  Not right now.”

“I’ll write you every night.” Fleamont promised, pulling her into his arms, stealing a last moment to breathe her in. All too soon they had to depart, however, and Euphemia slipped down the hallway of Hogwarts, vanishing the tear tracks from her face and fixing her hair and clothes to their former immaculate appearance.

“I’m here, Mother!” She called out, shoving brightness into her voice as she looked back to the now-empty alcove. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to take one last walk around the castle.”

That alcove was the last time Fleamont and Euphemia would see each other for six years.

The war against Grindelwald took much longer than either of them anticipated, and Fleamont was required to stay on the front lines, brewing a number of potions to help their forces. He spent his years in a tent, traipsing around the European countryside and dodging both Muggle and magical forces. After avoiding one too many explosions, Fleamont gained a healthier respect for Muggles than he had previously; though his parents were decidedly not on Grindelwald’s side, there was still a dose of anti-Muggle attitude in the family. Not muggleborns, necessarily—they had magic, and therefore were acceptable—but Muggles…well, Fleamont had received a bit of a reality check when he realized the extent of Muggle intelligence, and saw how capable they were of handling themselves. Plus there were so bloody _many_ of them, it was baffling. While in the midst of this ideological shift, Fleamont continued to write Phee every few days, though he learned fairly early on that many of his owls were simply not making it through, and vice versa. As such, he had quite the stack of letters as the years went on.

Euphemia managed to do the impossible and keep herself unmarried, even though contact with Fleamont was few and far between, with only the occasional letter arriving every few months. She made sure to send one off at least every few days, though she fought for time between her many social engagements. The unsure status of their relationship was not easy for her to bear, especially while fending off her eager parents, but she managed, and threw herself into her work with war refugees. The Magical British community did not expect the influx of people they received from the countries more directly affected by Grindelwald, and Euphemia spent her days helping settle people who were seeking a safe place to live, after losing literally everything.

Though they were both busy, the years passed slowly at times, and the absence of the other was felt on both sides. It would not be until 1945, however, that they would meet again.

It was a breezy evening, and Euphemia was spending it on her balcony, taking in the abnormally-cool air. All of a sudden, a very familiar owl landed in front of her, a piece of paper grasped in its talons.

“Herpo?” She gave Fleamont’s owl an affectionate pat. “What do you have for me?” He stuck out his talon and she took the paper, fairly suspicious.

“Well, me, for one.” The note, with the words _look down_ scrawled on it, fluttered to the ground as Fleamont rose up on his broom and into her line of sight, before landing on her balcony. Euphemia stared at him blankly for a moment as he dismounted, not quite registering that it was _Fleamont_ in front of her. He was quite a bit taller than he had been at eighteen, and his hair was much shorter, though he was sporting a bit of scruff that she found herself to be fond of. “Phee?” He shifted his weight, giving her that sheepish look she knew far too well.

“Oh, my darling!” She rushed forward and he barely caught her before she collided with him. They clung to each other for what seemed like hours, just breathing in each other. It is said that absence makes the heart grow fonder, and perhaps that was true for them. However, absence is also very painful for the heart, and reuniting was the balm it needed. All too soon, they pulled away, and back to reality.

“It’s going to sound terribly sappy, but you have only grown more beautiful.” He sighed, brushing a bit of her hair back with his hand.

“It is, but thank you.” She laughed. “I see you finally figured out a way to maintain that mop of yours?” Euphemia glanced at the top of his head. “Though I see you grew part of it back.” She patted his cheek, feeling the scruff.

“It was time for a change.” Fleamont smiled. “On both accounts.” He reached down to grasp her hands. “Would you be willing to get changed and go somewhere with me?”

“What would this entail?”

“A surprise…..” He gave her his best pleading look.

Euphemia considered for a moment how she really ought to go to bed, because quite frankly she had work in the morning, and a million other little excuses she could make up to not go with Fleamont, but she really couldn’t bear to do it. She was a twenty-four year old woman who had spent the last six years at home with her parents, stalling their marriage machinations in hopes of her longtime boyfriend returning to her, and only her work to give her any really independence in life. Now, here said boyfriend was, ready to fly her away on his broom for, at the very least, a night of amusement. There really was no option. And so, she went and changed out of her dressing robe, and a few minutes later they were off, with the Selwyn home behind them.

It was a fair amount of time later—probably a half hour, maybe more—when they landed on a road just off of the beach. Considering the direction they had headed in, Euphemia assumed they were in Kent, and Fleamont soon confirmed the same.

“We aren’t in a part I recognize, however.” She looked around, noticing there was a nice-looking building not far away, and what looked like civilization beyond that. There were also a number of large boats docked by the closer building.

“That’s because we’re technically in Muggle Kent.” Fleamont said glibly.

“Excuse me, but why?” She asked.

“Do you trust me?” He countered.

“Yes, but—”

“Do you _trust_ me?” Euphemia nodded. “Alright then. Let’s go.” Fleamont held out his hand, and together they headed towards the closest building. As they neared it, Euphemia could see there were a number of people dressed in what looked like Muggle evening wear heading in the building.

She turned to her boyfriend as they ducked into a shed which held a great deal of gear of some type. If she had to wager a guess, it probably had to do with the boats. “If you’re planning on us going inside, I believe we should at the very least cast a glamour charm.”

“Or,” Fleamont tapped his shirt in a familiar spell, “We can just transfigure our clothes.”

“Must you always go for the theatric effect?” She laughed as she began working on her own clothes and jewelry, similar to what she saw the other women wearing.

“You know I must. Besides, it’s less likely to fade and leave us in a very awkward position.” Fleamont finished with his shoes and conjured a mirror to check his bowtie, before holding it for Euphemia to make any last adjustments.

“Thank you, darling.” She brushed an imaginary wrinkle off of her dress, and readjusted her necklace. “I must say, I have never prepared for a party in a shed before.”

“I did promise you adventure.” He smirked, Banishing the mirror. “Besides, I dare say you look more lovely in this shed than any of those Ministry balls.”

“You’re a flirt.” Euphemia fixed a piece of lint off of his shoulder and readjusted his tie before taking his arm.

And so they were off to the Muggle party. As Euphemia soon found out, Fleamont created grand identities for them as a Duchess and a Prince, and they spent the next few hours whirling around the dance floor. She was unfamiliar with many of the Muggle dances, but her boyfriend seemed to have some knowledge, so she let him take the lead. He was different from the boy she was familiar with. Not terribly different, and not in a bad way, but it was clear at this was Fleamont the man. He was less arrogant, and more assured. He treated her like a woman, and less like a girl. She could sense the difference now, after having been in the path of many men. She could feel the respect. It was always there, of course—he was raised with impeccable manners and always treated her well—but it was more serious now. And she could feel herself treating him in a similar way. He was _more_. He was a little haunted, as well; she could see it in his eyes. Whatever he had seen out there…it left its mark.

Euphemia wanted to know what plagued him. She wanted to know his experiences—why he was so familiar with Muggles was a good place to start, clearly. She wanted to hear about the cities he visited, the friends he made, and the enemies. Letters were so far and few between with them that, now he was back and she could finally speak with him, she wanted to know it all. His day-to-day life, his feelings, his everything.

It was that moment on the dance floor that Euphemia knew. She had been in love with Fleamont since they were sixteen and two crazy teenagers who hid from their parents because they were too scared to defy them openly. She loved him madly and wildly and a large part of her was scared they wouldn’t make it through the war, but clearly they had. It was then that she knew she would spend the rest of her life with this man. Their parents and society be damned.

A bit after her revelation the party dissipated, and the wizarding pair headed out (following a quick pop into the shed to Transfigure their clothes back). A boardwalk along the ocean began very near the yacht club, and as such they walked it—one of the many young couples enjoying the sea air and the moonlight. Most of their walk passed in silence, the company was enough, but soon conversation arose, and a debate was sparked over the loyalties of their peer groups.

“I have spent a fair amount of time with them, Fleamont. Honestly, just because they were horrid in school does not mean they are _now_.” She scoffed. “People do grow up, you know.”

“Oh, so now you’re bosom friends with the Avery’s and Rowle’s, I see? How lovely, considering I just put Tiberius Rowle in _prison_.” He spat. “What a lovely group of people you’ve spent your time with.”

“Just like _you’ve_ clearly been spending your time in Muggle dance halls.” Euphemia huffed. They had been getting along so well… But, perhaps the slight bitterness wasn’t only on her side. “Besides, _you_ have no right to say anything about who I do or do not associate with. I can do whatever I please.”

“And what is that supposed to mean? Do you want me to leave?” A note of alarm tinged his voice, but the anger was still there.

“You’re the most insufferable man I have ever met.” Euphemia rolled her eyes. She sat down on the bench with a huff. Childishly—and she knew it to be, though she cared not—she scooted a bit away when he sat beside her.

“You need a little insufferable in your life.” Fleamont softened a little. She flicked her hair and fixed him with a look. “Oh, Phee, don’t stay peeved with me. I know you’ve grown up with them, but you have to acknowledge that they and I will never be friends.” She crossed her arms. “Love, now don’t tell me you’ve gone and gotten yourself engaged to some other bloke while I’ve been away.” He laughed a little at the end

Euphemia could tell that, while he seemed to make a joke, there was concern under that façade he put up so well. Instantly she felt her anger vanish. What a fickle thing love was; Merlin knows she did need his insufferableness in her life. And well, she wasn’t particularly fond of many of her ‘friends’ either. Nor were they of her.  It was simply old family loyalties and boredom which made them socialize together. “Do you remember that night we found the unicorn?”

Fleamont smiled. “We went for a picnic. And I…”

“I’ve been wearing this for six years, darling.” Euphemia held up her right hand, where a sapphire glinted in its setting. “I know you meant it as a promise for the future when it was given, but I’d love nothing more than to wear it properly.”

“I could tell you no, you know.” He laughed, as he removed the ring from her right hand, and moved it to her left. “Technically that’s my right as the one who is being proposed to.”

“I would rather you didn’t.”

“I suppose not. I am decently fond of you.” Fleamont kissed the back of her hand, then her palm, shooting his fiancé a wink.

“Only decently? My goodness, what a poor way to start off.”

“That will be when we tell our parents, love. Then we can see the storm erupt.”

Euphemia tossed her hair and let out a delicate snort. “If they are upset, I say damn them all. Quite frankly, I’m tired of hiding this, and they can’t say anything about who we marry. They’ll come around.”

“We could just take a portkey to Greece and marry there, and tell them all when we come back.” Fleamont joked as he tugged on one of her curls.

“And have our mothers find out via the family tapestries? I think not, darling.” She smiled. “Besides, if we’ve had to hide us for eight years in fear of their disapproval, I will have a proper wedding, even if just to shove it in every one of my condescending aunts’ faces.”

“Letitia, Theodora, and Marguerite are married, I assume?” He asked, noticing the disgusted look she got on her face every time her cousins were brought up, as if she had just smelt manure.

“Aunt Philippa told me I was welcome to Letitia’s rejected suitors, and she married _Parkinson_ , for Merlin’s sake. I nearly bit my tongue because of that.” Euphemia’s cousins were all her age, and all had been in Slytherin—acting as if her precious Ravenclaw House was filth beneath them. Philippa was the most vapid of her aunts—and her daughter was quite similar—though the other two were no less horrid. Theodora was perhaps the least terrible of the three, though she was married to some man in France or something now, and quite irrelevant.

“Do I at least rank above Matthias Parkinson?” Fleamont needled her, laughing when she gave him the most ridiculous are-you-insane look. “I’ll take that as a compliment. At least our ten children will be better looking.”

“That’s not hard.” Euphemia mumbled. “I don’t know what you mean by ten children, however, but I can assure you that will not happen.”

“You don’t want ten little ones just like us running around?”

“I think two or three will be quite enough, darling. Though we don’t particularly need to worry about that now.” She checked her watch. “And on that note, we do need to head back. As lovely as tonight was, if we’re going to properly shock our parents tomorrow we need to be well-rested.” Fleamont agreed and after finding a proper corner, they apparated back to Euphemia’s balcony.

-0-0-0-0-0-

“Is that it?” Lily asked. By now her tea was quite gone, as well as the woman’s—who she now realized was Euphemia.

“Well my dear, the rest of the story is still being written.” Euphemia laughed.

“Yes, but how did your parents take it? And his? Did everything work out?” Lily nibbled on one of the biscuits Madam Rosmerta had brought them. “Also, I know…well, Letitia’s daughter, I suppose. Horrid girl. And named after her grandmother.”

“So the apple has continued to land quite close.” Euphemia raised an eyebrow. “Such a surprise.” Lily gave a giggle as the noise in the pub increased exponentially as the students arrived. She had used her privileges as Head Girl to sneak off a bit early, but it wasn’t like it particularly mattered. A glance around the pub told her the person she was looking for was not there yet.

“But yes, dear, we told our parents. Mine were quite shocked and a little angry at first, but they soon accepted it. I was not going to be marrying anyone else, that was for sure. Fleamont’s were a bit easier, though they did not properly warm to me until after the wedding. Still time for him to change his mind, I suppose.” She laughed. “As for the ten children… We have one, though so many friends of my son cycle through my house, it feels like we have ten.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Lily noticed him arrive. He was by himself, strangely, but perhaps he was meeting someone. ‘ _A date?_ _No, no. Not a date.’_ He was also heading directly for her, though…not. He made eye contact with her as he approached, looking between her and Euphemia quizzically before he tapped the older woman on the shoulder.

“Hello Mum.” James Potter shifted. “Sorry I’m quite late.”

“Mum?” Lily choked out as a blush rushed to her cheeks. Of course, she could see it now. She assumed James must look quite like his father, but she could see the similar expressions between the two. What she couldn’t fathom was the fact that she had spent the last hour with his mother, and did not know. _‘Dear Merlin, I just asked the mother of the boy I’m confused about for romantic advice_ ’. Someone needed to dig her a hole to hide in. Perhaps until graduation. Or eternity.

“Oh, yes! Lily dear, I assume you have met my son?” Euphemia smiled as she fixed the back of his collar discreetly. He gave her a look of fond exasperation, as clearly this happened often.

“I’d say we know each other quite well.” Lily felt her blush reappear when he smiled at her. Damn her paleness. “Though you neglected to tell me your _darling_ son was James.”

“Don’t believe a thing she tells you, Lily.” James rolled his eyes and laughed.

“Considering your story helped me quite a lot, I’ll just ignore him for the moment.” Lily turned to Euphemia. “I greatly appreciate your advice.” She smiled as the other lady clasped her hand.

“I’m happy to have cleared up some of your confusion, dear. Matters of the heart are a difficult thing to remedy.” Euphemia caught the glance between her son and Lily at that remark, and was internally satisfied. So _this_ was the Lily she had heard so much about. Well, she approved. “You’ll have to meet my husband one day, and you can hear his side of everything. Involves a bit more heroism on his part, though.” She smirked.

Out of the corner of her eye, Lily saw Mary beckoning to her from outside the pub window, and checked her watch. “That would be quite lovely. However, I just remembered I had plans at one, and it’s already ten past. My friends appear quite impatient, so I will have to beg off.” She nodded towards the window, and the Potters turned to look.

“Ah, of course, dear. Have a good time. I’m sure this isn’t the last time we’ll see each other.” Euphemia eyed the blush which crept up on both teenagers after that remark.

“I’ll see you in our common room later, James.” Lily smiled. “And goodbye, Euphemia. Truly, I’ve enjoyed our talk.”

With that, she took her leave, and met her friends for an afternoon of shopping and restocking of essentials in the village. Her mind never wandered far from the mother-son duo she left in the pub, though. Unbeknownst to her, she was not far from their thoughts either. 

That night, Lily asked James on a date. And from there, well, the rest was history.


End file.
